Lord of the Manor (21 page)

Play? Nay, not this time. The sound of steel striking steel in fast, punishing strokes, reverberated down her spine.

“Can you stop them?” Lucinda asked, praying Ardith could before one of the brothers killed the other. If Richard lost, she would be lost. If Gerard lost,
Richard would be bereft, and may never forgive himself.

“Aye, but I see no reason…”

Lucinda strove to make Ardith understand. “They do not play, Ardith, they fight. Richard…Richard was going to tell Gerard that…that he asked me to marry him. I fear Gerard did not take the news well.”

“Truly?” Ardith asked, surprised. “Richard simply told you? How odd for Richard.”

“Ardith,
please
stop them before one of them is hurt!”

“Set your mind at ease. Neither of them would ever take up a sword against the other in anger. Come, dress. We will go down and you will see.”

Lucinda hurriedly donned the filmy white chemise and midnight black linen gown that Ardith had insisted she wear, laughing that she would have no use for it until after her baby’s birth. Lucinda didn’t bother with a veil.

Merciful heaven, in all of her wildest imaginings of how the brothers’ talk would end, she hadn’t envisioned that they would come to blows.

Ardith led the way down the stairs and into the great hall, walking far too slowly. She stopped midhall. “Thomas, come,” she called to a young man.

“Aw, my lady, must I?” Thomas asked, reluctantly following her order.

Ardith smiled. “Aye, you must. Lucinda, meet Thomas. He has the shrillest whistle in all the kingdom.” Ardith took his arm for support and began walking again.

Lucinda’s patience nearly snapped, but she kept still. Ardith simply didn’t understand that the brothers were out in the yard to settle a dispute. Over Lucinda.

They crossed the bailey as fast as Ardith could walk, heading for a large crowd.

“You must not be too concerned at what you see,” Ardith said. “In truth, they drive me to distraction, but all is well.”

All was not well. Couldn’t Ardith hear the heaviness of the blows? The anger in their voices? The crowd parted for Ardith, Lucinda following close behind.

When she stopped, Lucinda nearly fainted.

In the center of the yard, Richard and Gerard snarled and circled each other like dogs fighting over a bone. Both hefted large, gleaming sharp swords. Neither wore a hauberk, or even a tunic.

Magnificent specimens of virile male warrior, both.

“Come, Gerard,” Richard taunted. “Do your worst.”

“I will have you without breaking a sweat.”

“Hah! Such arrogance! I keep what is mine. Try to deprive me and I will have your guts for nooning!”

She’d seen Richard fight, but not like this. His bout with George had been short-lived and one-sided. Richard and his brother, however, were equally matched.

Gerard brought his sword up, and around.

Ardith put a hand on Lucinda’s arm. “Steady, Lucinda.”

Richard spun away and came back at Gerard with a punishing blow.

“They will kill each other,” Lucinda said, her heart pounding so fast it threatened to burst.

“’Tis what I keep telling them. They never listen. The worst is, they never even come close. If you are to marry Richard, then you had best get used to this.”
Ardith’s hand tightened on Lucinda’s arm. “’Tis how they play, and express their affection and respect for each other.”

Lucinda saw no affection in the flurry of Gerard’s attack.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, and swayed.

“Thomas, now, before she faints,” Ardith said.

Thomas gave a long, shrill whistle.

Richard ducked away and under the swing that Gerard struggled to check. He dropped his sword point to the dirt and turned to where the shrill signal had come from.

Ardith stood there, arms crossed on her big belly, scowling. Lucinda stood next to her, pale and frightened nearly witless.

“Hellfire. Caught,” Gerard mumbled.

“Damn,” Richard mumbled back. “Why do they become overwrought?”

“Only the Lord knows, and I imagine He wonders. Come on.”

They started across the yard. Philip and Daymon came running up. Daymon stopped before Gerard and held his arms out for his father’s sword.

Philip stared up at Richard, awed. Richard felt his chest swell at the pure adoration. He ruffled Philip’s hair.

“I suppose now you wish to be a soldier again.”

“Oh, aye, my lord!”

Richard laid his sword across Philip’s arms. “You can begin by going with Daymon and learn how to care for a sword.”

The two boys walked off, proudly bearing the swords.

Ardith cleared her throat, a call to task.

“You sweat, Richard. I win,” Gerard said, putting an arm around his wife.

He was sweating. Damn. “Aye. You get a barrel of wine,” Richard said, gathering Lucinda in his arms. She trembled, but didn’t faint. “Mayhap I will send for several barrels, for the wedding.”

Gerard’s arm tightened around Ardith.

Ardith elbowed Gerard’s ribs. “Be gracious, darling.”

Gerard sighed. “For the wedding. Come, wife. You should be off your feet.”

The two of them headed for the keep. The crowd began to disperse, the excitement over.

“You are alive,” Lucinda whispered.

“Of course I am alive.”

“When Gerard came at you I thought…Oh, merciful heaven, I thought…”

He wrapped her in a hug. “Gerard would never harm me, though he may curse me to hell and back.”

“You told him?”

“He is not terribly pleased, but resigned. I knew so the moment he lifted his sword. ‘Tis more than I hoped for.”

Lucinda’s head came up. “Then what were the two of you arguing over out there?”

“Wine.”

“Wine. You fought bare chested with sharp swords over wine?”

He didn’t miss the edge in her voice.

“We did not fight. We played.”

Lucinda looked at him in the very same way that Ardith looked at Gerard when they argued over the very same subject—one of exasperation filled with
love. Lucinda truly loved him. He was one fortunate man.

She sighed and rested her cheek against his shoulder. “The next time you
play,
please don a hauberk.”

Richard smiled and leaned down to place a light kiss on her forehead. He couldn’t promise that he would mend his ways, but he would think about it.

“You smell good,” he said, caught by the scent of the soap she’d used to wash her hair. Fresh and womanly. Arousing.

She laughed lightly. “You smell.”

“Any water left in that tub?”

“’Tis cold.”

“’Twill do.”

He nudged Lucinda toward the keep, intending to dunk himself in the tub then whisk her off to a bedchamber, with an entirely different kind of play in mind. Gerard already had his stone keep, his goose-feather mattress, and two sons with possibly a third on the way. ‘Twas time to catch up.

Shari Anton is delighted to help usher in Harlequin Historicals’ next decade of bringing readers stirring love stories set in long-ago places.

The mother of two grown children, and grandmother of an adorable toddler grandson, Shari loves doing historical research. Her husband of twenty-seven years is convinced that she plans vacations to include every Civil War reenactment, medieval fair and pioneer cemetery she can find. Shari graciously concedes that he might be right.

Shari lives in southeastern Wisconsin, is a member of Wisconsin Romance Writers of America and loves to hear from readers. You can write to her at P.O. Box 510611, New Berlin, WI 53151-0611.